


drabble collection #2

by mamdible



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: ASPD Character(s), AU - Dystopia, Crushes, Cynicism, Dubious Consent, Homophobia, Mental Illness, Multi, Poverty, Unhealthy Relationships, ah man these tags are so unhappy its bumming me out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-04
Updated: 2019-04-04
Packaged: 2020-01-04 16:50:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18347729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mamdible/pseuds/mamdible
Summary: A collection of drabbles focusing around no particular central theme at all, but I felt that they needed to go together because they were too short to post individually.





	drabble collection #2

**Author's Note:**

> aight so theres a lot of fucked up shit in here, don't read if you're particularly sensitive to issues of class, mental health and consent. Also, if anyone wants to ask me about ASPD, go ahead, I love talking about it and I'll probably be able to tell you something a lil more accurate than exaggerated websites

Akamido – guilt

Sometimes Akashi wonders if he is guilty of destroying Shintarou. It is a thought from the more compassionate version of him – different enough from the person he is when he disassociates that it tricks his friends into thinking there are two of him, instead of just one boy who can flick his niceness off like a switch.

It is fairly obvious that mental illnesses cannot simply be handed out as if they were gifts. But he isn’t an idiot, and he knows about stressors and obsessions and how easily they catch to someone with a genetic predisposition. 

(On the first day of middle school, he spotted the tall boy with green hair and delicate features and was interested. Even before what his psychiatrists have described as his psychotic break, he was always a little ambivalent towards conventional ethical practises, and so he took one look at the stringent habits of the boy, the strange superstitions he held, and introduced him to some childish astrology program.

It is difficult to say wether he knew about OCPD back then. He was, of course, familiar with a range of mental illnesses due to the fact that the DSM was in his assigned reading delegated by his father, but he can’t quite remember if he knew about catalysts and therapy and what not to do back then. When he wants to feel better about himself, he tells himself that he couldn’t have known Shintarou would latch on to the predictions like a drowning man, and that the boy would carry such neuroses from childhood right into adulthood. When he’s more truthful about his flaws, he mournfully thinks that he had some idea of what he was doing.)

And it isn’t as if Shintarou is broken, because he isn’t really. He is a world-class surgeon, not even thirty and already building a glowing reputation for himself. It’s just that Akashi sees a lot more of Shintarou now that they live together, sees and understands that his obsession is not just a funny quirk but rather a terrifying force that practically rules his life. Every morning there is a mad scramble to find an object suitable for his needs out of the vast amounts of sheer stuff packed neatly into boxes, and if such an item cannot be procured from their stores, Akashi has to run and find it. 

At times he wonders why he indulges Shintarou’s requests, instead of making the other man simply do it himself.

(Three weeks into their romantic cohabitation, an arrangement that estranged Shintarou from his father and made his mother a little confused and lonely, Shintarou couldn’t find a carrot shaped pen. He asked Akashi to procure it for him, and Akashi, very busy, refused and told him to get it himself, and practically pushed him out the door.

The resulting meltdown would have been funny if not for the fact that Shintarou’s panicked wailing was ear-splittingly loud, and bound to wake their neighbours, and when Akashi ripped open the door the six foot five man was curled into a ball and rocking back and forth, carefully taped hands scratching at his inner elbows as he cried. He refused to go out for the rest of the week, and Akashi tried to stay with him and apologise as much as possible.)

And if Akashi cannot procure the item, he does not leave his bed, much less the house. On those days, he murmurs to himself over and over, head under the covers and huge frame curled up as tight as possible. Akashi cannot always stay with him on those days, but he tries to force food into him and hold him and maybe soothe him, if he can.

Shintarou is not exactly broken, but he is certainly destroyed. At times Akashi wants to simply wrap him up in the covers of their bed and keep him there, away from a life that seems so very taxing when added to everything else Midorima has to do. Such thoughts are not romantic, and they are not healthy, as declared by his therapist. They are possessive impulses that he must learn to ignore if he wishes to avoid another psychotic break like middle school to high school.

At times he feels guilty of causing such things to happen. There are things he cannot fix, such as his actions in youth, no matter how hard he tries. Shintarou is damaged – it is egotistical to lay the blame solely at his feet, but he knows for sure he didn’t help, not by introducing Midorima to the stupid Oha Asa program. Some part of him wants to use his influence to drive it off the air, simply because of how much trouble it has caused him, but-

(Shintarou curled into a ball, weeping and terrified. Scratches on the inside of his arms, dark rings under his eyes. Waking up in the middle of the night and having breakdowns, obsessively listening to the stupid horoscope over and over. Refusing to interact with Akashi if the compatibility of their signs is low that particular day. Not eating, not sleeping, not showering, not leaving the house. Akashi wishes he could protect the larger man from all of it, keep him safe and locked away, but that isn’t love. That isn’t romance, that isn’t care, that is bad and he resolutely pushes away such thoughts.)

Perhaps he shouldn’t remove the only crutch Shintarou has to a normal life (but is it really a crutch, or is it a cause? How can he tell?). Perhaps he should lock Shintarou up for ever and ever, keep him safe, except that isn’t romance. That isn’t healthy. 

“Akashi,” his lover calls sleepily from their bed. It’s Sunday, and Midorima will not be leaving the room – not because of a lack of a lucky item, the giant blue raccoon is sitting right there – but rather because they jealously guard the time they have together. “What are you thinking about?”

“You,” he replies honestly. “Would you be averse to perhaps attending one of my psychology appointments? I believe it could help you- both of us, I mean.”

That prompts a frown on Shintarou’s face, and Akashi wants to eat his words. 

“I don’t think there is anything wrong with our relationship,” he says primly. Akashi has no idea how to reply and say that their relationship is hardly an issue, and that the problem is Midorima’s absolutely uncontrolled disease. 

So he doesn’t say anything, and feels a little bit more guilty.

Aoima – Crush

For the most part, he’s pretty straight. Pretty girls with big tits and cute faces, that’s what he’s after. It’s just sometimes he forgets to be quite so straight. Sometimes his eyes rake over the abs of other guys, dip down to tight asses in tighter briefs.

Imayoshi is one of the guys he finds himself drawn to more often than not. He tries to tell himself it’s just because he’s confused by how long Imayoshi’s hair is, but that doesn’t really work when he starts thinking about how he’d like to suck his dick.

Like anything else bothersome in his life, he avoids it for a while until it becomes more of a problem to ignore than it is to act on it, and even then he puts in as little effort as possible. He drags himself to school, doesn’t go to morning practise and skips pretty much all his classes. His thoughts keep circling back to Imayoshi, and it annoys him a fair amount.

So he goes to afternoon practise. He wasn’t planning on it, but he kinda wants to see the guy. He half-heartedly goes through some drills, eyes never leaving the figure of the captain, where he stands talking to the coach.

Imayoshi is a pretty handsome guy. Girls notice it, guys notice it, but no one really acts on it, ‘cause he gives off a vibe of being untouchable. Aomine isn’t like those other fucks, though. He’ll act on it, he’ll fucking do it. He’s not quite sure what ‘it’ actually is, but he’s sure he’ll figure it out.

After he gets bored he hangs around reading pornos in the bleachers, occasionally glancing at Imayoshi. The flicking between the pornos and his crush (there’s an instinctual recoil in his mind when he thinks that) gets him a little bit confused, and he starts imagining Imayoshi posing for the camera seductively, and that works a little too well, so he stops reading the mags and instead plays on his phone.

Eventually practise finishes and even the overachievers desperate for a place on the team drift out of the gym, until only he and Imayoshi are left. He wanders down from the bleachers, trying to act uninterested. He gets the feeling Imayoshi sees right through it, though.

“Hello, Aomine. Did you need something?”

“Uh…”, he says intelligently, mind absolutely blank. How’s he supposed to communicate what he feels? What’s he supposed to say? Damn, he should have asked Satsuki for help, even if she would have been super annoying about it.

In the end, he doesn’t have to say anything at all, because Imayoshi moves lightning fast towards him and his lips ghost over his, soft and barely there. He can feel himself blushing, and god damn, this isn’t fair. He isn’t supposed to have crushes, especially not at sixteen years old.

“Would you like to go out some time?”

“Uh… yeah,” he says, a little shell shocked and dumbfounded but he’s fine. It’s fine. And he apparently has a date.

 

Kurokaga – bitter

Here’s the thing lots of people don’t really get about him; he’s a pretty intuitive person, when he isn’t being oblivious. He can get too caught up in stuff, too involved in the game or the laughs or the fun to realise what’s going on, but if there’s a lull in activity he’s pretty sure to pick up on anything going spectacularly wrong.

He hesitates to apply such a label to Kuroko’s personality, but shit, the guy is… not quite okay. For all that he talks about the power of friendship, how he’s going to get back his old friends and make them see the light, Kagami can’t help but think his crusade borders a little on the line of vengeance. Sure, he cares about his friends, and wants them to stop being assholes, but Kagami gets the feeling it’s more about revenge, showing them who’s boss, proving to them he’s not a loser.

He gets the feeling because when they’re fucking in the middle of the night, Kuroko buried inside him and Kagami riding him as hard as he can, ‘cause Kuroko’s bound to faint if he tries to fuck Kagami with his own (non-existent) muscles, when they’re fucking Kuroko groans and whispers harsh words about winning, about proving it to all of them, showing them who’s boss.

Once they’re done, once they’re both sated and a little tired, Kagami flops down next to his (boyfriend? Fuckbuddy? Who even knows, and Kuroko definitely isn’t telling him) companion, lukewarm lemonade in hand, and starts up some conversation that is sleepily returned until Kuroko passes out for real and Kagami is left to ponder his position in Kuroko’s machinations.

For the most part, he’s probably revenge. A tool to exact it, really – he’s good enough to beat the miracles (if given enough time, he could probably train himself past them even without Kuroko’s help, because he is damn good at improving himself), and he’s similar enough to Kuroko’s old boyfriend Aomine that it’ll hurt the man, and Kuroko’s bitter little heart will be pleased.

Oh, but that’s a thought - Aomine is undeniably hot, and he’s getting a little fed up with being the American knockoff. Maybe he’ll fuck that guy next, if Aomine is agreeable to it. Dude probably has a huge dick, too. That’ll be fun, he thinks, and tells himself he’s not as bitter as Kuroko.

Muromura - tall

It’s impossible not to notice quite how tall Murasakibara actually is. He’s a giant, towering over everyone else. Himuro noticed it first thing, more than a little shocked. He got used to it, sure, got used to craning his neck to look his friend in the eye, but sometimes he just gets a startling reminder.

Like when Murasakibara leans over and rests his chin on Himuro’s head, pressure and weight. Or when the boy slouches down so he can kiss Himuro, spine slowly straightening once he’s satisfied. 

When Murasakibara comes over to his dorm, Himuro runs hands along wingspan, marvelling at the sweeping lines that make up the tightly corded muscle that run beneath the man’s skin. It’s hard to see his face, since it’s always covered by uncut hair, but once he pushes the purple, tangled mane to the side, he’s handsome, in a tired way.

Himuro is the one to kiss him first, careful and gentle, and having just fed him a packet of Gummi Bears from Germany. Murasakibara doesn’t quite kiss back, but he doesn’t pull away, and that’s enough for Himuro. 

See, Himuro is sort of selfish. He loves selfishly. He had something good, something perfect, with Taiga, but he selfishly wanted to be superior, to be better, rather than to exist on equal footing. He likes Murasakibara just as selfishly, wants to fuck him and keep him away from other people and wants to make him depend on Himuro.

It’s probably not the best basis for a healthy relationship, but Murasakibara probably would be alright with being dependant on Himuro, and in all honesty, he doesn’t see a universe in which Murasakibara actually has a proper job. Himuro’s smart, has his whole future planned out, and can support someone like Murasakibara.

He doesn’t say so, but Murasakibara seems to understand either way, in the way he acquiesces whenever Himuro pushes, is malleable and lazy in his hands. The selfish part of him screams in joy.

KiKasa - consider

Kise considers his captain. He observes the shorter man, watches and makes judgements and assessments. Kasamatsu is a good captain, if loud and abrasive, and a handsome man, if a little on the short side with very strange eyebrows.

See, Kise isn’t exactly sure how to be a normal person. He’s very good at pretending to be, very good at mimicking emotions and reactions (he has three older sisters to practise on, plus he’s watched a bunch of videos of idols and stuff) but he doesn’t quite feel on the same level as normal people.

Empathy, guilt, a conscience – they are all obviously missing from his psyche. At times he has no idea why people do the things they do, why they scream and cry and get pissed at him (and once he finds out he doesn’t really care, anyway), though he’s getting better and better at avoiding such things. 

He’s gotten better through observing and copying. So he observes his teammates, and most of all, his captain. Maybe it would be best to term his interest as an obsession, because he has at least an hour of footage of ten second clips of Kasamatsu doing something, and the storage space on his phone is full up with pictures of him.

It’s just… he’s so fascinating, for some indiscernible reason. Kise knows his favourite food, what grades he got for the mock test, who his first crush was, he knows his address and his mother’s name, he knows what sort of porn Kasamatsu watches (though he seems like a stalker this is just stuff he has picked up from various teasing conversations with his upperclassmen), and still he cannot find the reason as to why he’s so interested in Kasamatsu.

The man will be graduating this year, and Kise will lose his fixation. What will he do then? How will he cope?

(He remembers sex education lessons, remembers the th ousands of photos he has of Kasamatsu’s face, flushed and sweaty, of the gap between his shorts and his knee-socks, of his abs when he pulls up his shirt to wipe his face, and has some idea of what he’ll do to pass the time between Kasamatsu graduating and Kise asking him out)

Takamido – dirt

Everything is dirty, nowadays. Before hand people were paid to fix things, pick up trash and collect bodies, but not now, not here. Maybe in the upper levels of the city shit is still clean, but not down here.

The guy sitting next to him stands out quite a bit. His suit is clean pressed, his skin is washed, and in a subway that smells of piss and rust he’s giving off a citrus perfume. Takao resents him, resents everything he stands for.

Midorima Shintarou, legacy heralding from the upper levels. His family is real famous, but apparently they didn’t want a gay kid, so they kicked him down to the lower levels, until he learnt his lesson.

They met when Takao tried to pick his pocket, Midorima broke two of his fingers, and then asked his star sign. Upon learning that he was a Scorpio, he resolved to follow him around for good luck or some stupid shit.

So now they’re riding the subway, and Midorima is looking entirely bored with everything. God, Takao hates him. What a prissy bitch, careful and precise. His hands are taped up, and the bandage is pristine white.

Some part of him revels in how it’ll get dirty, how this place will rub off on the stupid idiot, how even once he folds and gets pulled back up to his place at the top of society there’ll still be the stain of the bottom levels (but not the bottom level, ‘cause that’s somewhere too wild even for him) on him. It’s a stench that never goes away.

He giggles to himself, and shows Midorima to the house he’s squatting in. He shares it with a bunch of other guys and girls, and there are rats on the floor and insects and it’s all so repulsive. Midorima lays out a sleeping bag right next to his, and Takao sneers.

Days pass, and Midorima gets dirty. Except he doesn’t, ‘cause even though his suit gets crumpled and practically destroyed by the washing machines he still wears it and it still fits like a million bucks. Plus there’s this aura of cleanliness about him, like nothing can touch him.

Takao anticipates the day he snaps, the day he finally realises where he is and runs back home. In some ways he feels bad for it, ‘cause he’s into guys a little too, but then he remembers where he is, who he is, and who Midorima is, and any pity or guilt washes away into the instinctive hatred of the rich that’s hot in the empty bellies of the starving.

Weeks pass, and Midorima gets more haggard, gets a little more tired. He’s working alongside Takao, pickpocketing and stealing, but turns out he’s shit at the first one and fucking brilliant at the second, so all he ever wants to do is the one he’s good at, never mind the fact Takao can’t rob houses worth shit. 

He’s losing his patience. He wants Midorima to be on the same level as him already, wants him to be as pathetic, as much of a loser. They have conversations in which they don’t argue, now, and Takao feels furious.

Once a month snaps, he fucking loses it. Midorima is stronger than him, taller and prettier and better, cleaner, but he still goes down like anyone else. Still feels pain when Takao hits him, and the dirt Takao smears into his cheek sticks like it does to anyone else.

“Why don’t you just fucking get it, loser? We’re the same, dipshit. You’re just as much of a loser as me,” he sneers, and Midorima looks up at him bewildered and a little hurt. Takao pretends that doesn’t sting, doesn’t twinge in whatever he has in place of a heart. 

Midorima doesn’t hit back. He gets up, brushes himself off, and doesn’t say anything for the rest of the day. They don’t discuss it. Takao can feel himself going crazy.

He lasts nine days before he does it again, and this time he gives Midorima a bloody nose. It’s cathartic in all the ways it isn’t, the way he rubs filth into the blood over his mouth, watches how it dirties the skin and thinks of how it’ll be another three days before he can wash it off because they only have showers once every week or so.

It goes on like that, and he feels himself winding tighter and tighter, a coiled spring. He starts calling Midorima ‘Shin-chan’, and Midorima protests. It feels like winning, but he knows it’s not. He knows so damn well it’s not winning. 

Bruises litter Midorima’s skin, and every one of them is a gift from him. He feels sick. It starts amping up, each beating worse than the last. Midorima doesn’t hit him back. They’re in the same pose as usual, Takao straddling Midorima’s chest, fist poised and ready to hit, and Midorima’s arms held defensively in front of his face, when Takao thinks it for the first time.

God, he’s beautiful. It’s true. He has soft, pale skin and pink lips and eyelashes that are so damn long they brush against his glasses. He has a little mole behind his ear, a little black dot, and Takao stares at it as he goes to sleep every night. 

Takao kisses him, and that’s when Midorima starts crying.

He’s never cried before, which is why it’s so damn startling. Takao’s knees are off his chest in a heartbeat, and he’s skittering back, but Midorima just lies there in the dirty alleyway and cries. His tears cut tracks through the dried dirt (dirt that Takao has smeared on his face) and his cheeks flush. 

Midorima is finally as dirty as he is, and Takao regrets it. What does he want? What does he want to do? What does he want to have? At first, he thought that he wanted to sully Midorima, to make him equal to him. Now he isn’t sure.

“S-Shin-chan,” he says hesitantly, “I’m sorry. I won’t do it again. I’m really sorry. I won’t hit you again.”

It doesn’t seem like enough. Whatever he once wanted is impossible now, because he’s fucked it all up, because you don’t get to beat someone up and then date them, that’s not how things work and Takao is too old to pull on someone’s pigtails anyway.

Midorima stops crying after a while, gets to his feet. They don’t talk about it, and Takao doesn’t touch him again. 

He jerks off with a new star in his fantasies, eyes fixed on Midorima’s sleeping face, wondering if he could just reach over, just for a little kiss. Midorima is dirty now, ruined and on the same level as him, but it doesn’t feel good. It doesn’t feel like a triumph.

Three days later, another man in a cleanly pressed suit shows up, and Takao recognises him as Akashi Seijuuro, son of Akashi Masaomi (recently deceased) and now head of Akashi Industrials. 

Akashi appears at the doorstep of the house they’re squatting in, and gives the door watcher a tip of fifty thousand dollars for their discretion. He steps through the dirt with a distasteful expression, and Takao can feel it all imploding.

“Shintarou,” he says, and Midorima’s head snaps up from where he’s curled in a ball in the corner, shaking from witnessing Carly kill herself, along with her buddy Yuzuki. In Takao’s opinion, it was Carly’s only option, and Yuzuki deserved to die anyway. Midorima is still terrified though.

“Seijuuro,” he replies, tone wondrous. Takao can feel him slipping through his fingers, but fixes a smile on his face and doesn’t say jack-fucking-shit, because he lost that right the first time he hit Midorima.

“I have taken over your parent’s company. They tell me they are regretful for sending you here, and have been trying to find you for some time, though there is no evidence of this.”

“…I see. Will I still be employed if I return to the higher levels of the city?”

Akashi lets out a small laugh at that, as if amused. Takao feels like throwing up. “Of course, Shintarou. You were, of course, the only reason the company was worth absorbing. Now come, Shintarou. Let’s get out of here.”

Midorima stands on shaky legs, and Takao realises that he never even touched Midorima. He’s as perfect as the day he walked in here, and Takao’s been kicking up the dirt and getting himself filthy, and now he’s ignored as the two walk out the house.

…Shit, though, rich fucks really are awful, coming down here and breaking his heart. Fuck, he’s gonna have a few sleepless nights over Midorima, he can already tell. 

Kikasa – torment

 

Akamido – castle

Akashi’s house is quite like a castle – or at least that’s what Midorima thinks. It’s quite expansive, with multiple wings and at least a hundred rooms. There’s even a turret, and how is he supposed to not think of it as a castle?

He first came to Akashi’s house when they were in their first year of middle school, before their respective psychotic breaks (Midorima finds it quite funny, that Akashi managed to disassociate so strongly he developed an alternate personality at the very same time as Midorima was falling deeper and deeper into a crippling obsession with astrology – they truly are synchronised, even in their mental illnesses), and it seems so long ago. Are they even the same people they were back then?

Probably not, he thinks. For all that Akashi has clawed his way out of whatever state he was in, he is no longer kind, or gentle. He is demanding and commanding, domineering in every way. Midorima hasn’t changed quite as much, he doesn’t think, though Kuroko thinks he’s practically unrecognisable. 

They kissed for the first time in this castle, he thinks, in Akashi’s bedroom. Midorima was sitting on the huge bed, and Akashi was perched beside him. Their lips met clumsily, teeth knocking, but the pain didn’t quite deter them. Kisses are a common thing now, no longer something to be carefully hid from parents (Akashi Masaomi, Akashi’s father, he died under suspicious circumstances not two years ago and Midorima is too scared to ask Akashi about it, or ask him why he immediately destroyed Midorima’s father’s company) but are instead celebrated.

Akashi is busy. He often is, with an international business conglomerate to manage, and Midorima is left alone. When he was younger he wanted to be a surgeon. He qualifies as a surgeon, so why doesn’t he work? He has attempted to, he knows that much, but Akashi always talks him out of it. For the most part, he is sequestered away in the castle, alone or with Akashi.

Every now and then he meets up with old friends, though he doesn’t have many. Takao teases him about being a housewife, but at the same time voices his concerns at how their relationship is playing out. Kagami doesn’t bother to even talk about Akashi, instead excitedly discussing when his next game is and divulging the annoyance that comes with domestic bliss (what did he expect, marrying Aomine of all people). Aomine only ever wants to play. Kise giggles and laughs and is annoying, and Murasakibara just eats and argues.

Kuroko tells him that he needs to break up with Akashi.

Midorima likes meeting up with Kuroko the least, mostly because he knows that the man is right. It’s not healthy to be sequestered away in Akashi’s castle, only ever venturing out once a week (or once a fortnight, more recently) to meet up with others. It’s not healthy that his husband can talk him out of getting a job, talk him out of doing what he wants. 

They aren’t the same people they were when they were children. Kisses have the same passion, but Akashi has a crazed look in his eye. They fuck all the same, but on days when their star sign compatibility is low, Midorima will cry in the shower afterwards. It’s not quite abusive, he doesn’t think. Just toxic, and that makes him wonder if he could ever, ever have a normal relationship with someone.

Could Akashi love without wanting to own? Could he love without being scared, without hiding? He used to, he knows that much. He used to be extroverted, astrology used to be just a hobby instead of his life. Akashi used to be kind, instead of being so terrifying.

He’ll be back from work soon, and they’ll kiss, and then eat dinner and fuck in one of the many bedrooms in the castle, and it will repeat, again and again, them going through the motions inside this castle Akashi and he hide in.

 

Akamido –lavish

Whenever Akashi comes back from an overseas business trip (of which there are many) he brings with him some gift. A nice watch from Germany, a ring from India, some silk Armani ties from Italy, and now a set of jewellery from France.

Midorima is fairly secure in his masculinity. He is a man, and feels comfortable expressing the fact in various ways (he has always had a soft spot for cute, fluffy things, and the colour pink), and though he ends up bottoming more often than not, he in no way is the woman in the relationship – the entire point of their relationship is that there is no woman, after all.

So he is not quite emasculated when he is presented with the necklace and earrings, but he certainly is confused and a little irritated (though that is his reaction to most things he doesn’t understand).

Akashi smiles at him, calm and eerie in the most beautiful way. In the afternoon light spilling through the windows of the house (mansion, really) his skin seems golden, and Midorima wants to kiss him.

“What am I meant to do with this?”

His husband lets out a titter at that, as if he’s missing some obvious point. “Wear it, of course.”

“My ears aren’t pierced.”

“I have the equipment to remedy that,” Akashi counters, and points to the small looking piece of machinery on the table. Midorima has been wondering what that actually is, but has been too distracted with the gold and ruby and diamond to ask.

He doesn’t say anything for some time after that, thinking it all through, but he already knows he will acquiesce. Once Akashi has an idea, it’s practically guaranteed that said idea will be implemented in the real world.

His husband picks up the piercing gun carefully, and strides towards where Midorima is sitting. Midorima says nothing, simply eyes him carefully. The machine is placed down again, and in its place is an antiseptic swab from the first-aid kit. The cotton is cool against his earlobes, and he shivers a little (though more in anticipation of what is to come than anything else).

From what he understands, one is supposed to mark where the gun will go through with pen prior to piercing. Akashi doesn’t bother, and Midorima knows that the piercings will be even and perfectly centric regardless.

A quick inhale of breath as the gun is placed against his earlobe, and then a crunching sound accompanied by a pinching sensation. The motions are so quickly repeated he hardly has the time to react.

What hurts immeasurably more than the actual piercing is Akashi slipping off the sleepers and putting in their place the gold and ruby earrings, heavy and dangling down intricately.

He hisses in displeasure, and Akashi places a cool hand against his cheek, as if to calm him. The hand slips down to his collarbone, where the necklace is nestled carefully. 

“If only you could see yourself, Shintarou,” Akashi says sweetly. Midorima isn’t sure what he would be seeing, but from the arousal in Akashi’s eyes, he’s sure he would be embarrassed. 

What happens next is entirely private and passionate. 

 

 

Takamido – home

On the fourth week of their second year of high school, Midorima appears at practise with a black eye and a split lip. There’s confused murmuring that rumbles throughout first, second and third string, but no one asks him about it, not even Takao. 

Though he hates to admit it, his friend is fairly stuck up, so he figures he probably just got punched or something by someone he offended. He has some tact, though; so he doesn’t tease Shin-chan about it, and lets it slip by unnoticed.

The problem is the next day he comes into practise with more bruises, this time on his torso and arms. The bruises on his arms are disturbingly hand shaped. Again, he doesn’t say anything, but not to spare his friend’s dignity, but rather because he has no idea what to say.

It goes on like that for about a week, and then no new bruises appear. Takao is glad that no bruises are being added, though he is confused as to why there were any in the first place. Though the bruises fade, the tense atmosphere does not – instead, it becomes so stifling he has to confront it.  
“Uh… Shin-chan, is everything okay?”

Midorima stiffens at that, body going taught. They’re in the changing rooms, and it’s pretty late at night, ‘cause they’ve continued their tradition of staying late to practise every evening. The buzz of the overhead lights coupled with the hum of cicadas’ gives him a strange feeling.

“Why do you ask?”

His voice is curt, or curter than it usually is. Something is definitely wrong. “Well, you came in to practise beat up for like, a whole week, and now you’re really moody and mad all the time,” he replies. “I was wondering if something was wrong.”

There’s another pause, one that stretches painfully like a muscle not properly warmed up, and then Midorima looks him right in the eye. It seems as if all the oxygen has been sucked out of the room.

“I am homosexual. My parents have discovered this, and I am now homeless.”

Whatever he was expecting, it wasn’t that. Midorima is gay, and that’s… not really that surprising, ‘cause Midorima is really stuffy and prissy and has also not shown the slightest bit of interest in girls since the dawn of time. 

Takao doesn’t really put a lot of thought into sexuality, and what people with more difficult sexualities actually have to deal with. In some part of his mind he knows that people do get beaten up and kicked out for being gay or trans or bi or whatever, but that wasn’t something that happened near him, not to his friends, not to people he knows. That’s the sort of thing that happens to strangers in movies, not to the guy he can pretty much call his best friend.

“Shit… Shin-chan, are you going to be okay? I mean, you have a place to stay, right?”

Midorima’s face crumples into something irritated and hurt. “If I had a place to stay, Takao, I wouldn’t be homeless, would I?” 

“Wait, you’re sleeping on the streets?”

He doesn’t answer, but Takao knows he’s right. It’s pretty obvious what he should do next; offer the spare room, ‘cause his parents are overseas and probably will stay there for some time, but at the same time something stops him, some part of him just grinds to a halt. 

It takes honest effort to force out the offer, honest to god effort. It shouldn’t be so hard to help out a friend, should it? Is he just an awful person? Is he so horrible he can’t help out someone who’s in deep fucking shit?

“D’you wanna stay at my place for a while?”

Midorima accepts, ‘cause of course he fucking accepts. What’s he gonna do, say ‘no, I’d rather freeze to death ‘cause my parents are assholes’? Nah, that’s not him. So Midorima hauls his bag (full to bursting with clothes and shit) and they walk home. No rickshaw this time, maybe because Midorima is already self-conscious about the fairly huge favour he’s being offered.

So Takao’s parents are rarely ever home. He pretty much lives on his own, because his sister is too young to be looked after by a seventeen year old, so she stays with some auntie down the street. The house is abandoned every time he gets home, and thus he lives in squalor. 

Obviously Midorima takes offence at this, because he makes a choked sound once he crosses the threshold of the door. When Takao looks back at him, he’s wearing the most comical and irritating horrified expression Takao has ever seen. 

“Look, I know it’s a little messy, but it’s not that bad!”

It is that bad. He knows this, Midorima knows this, but neither of them says it, ‘cause Takao wants to mess with the other guy and Midorima is too indebted to him to complain. 

This turns out to be a trend in their arrangement. Takao does some stupid shit, and Midorima doesn’t pull him up on it. It’s so very different from what their relationship was like before Midorima got kicked out – like getting whiplash, that’s how fast things changed.

It only occurs to him two weeks after Midorima moves in with him that hey, this guy is hot, and you’ve been having some pretty weird wet dreams lately, so why not put the two together, and do some experimentation? It’s not like Midorima’s going to refuse (and some part of him squirms at the idea that Midorima feels he can’t refuse, but that’s Midorima’s problem, not his).

So he corners the dude one afternoon, presses him up against the couch and presses his lips against Midorima’s. He keeps his eyes wide open, prepared to escape the inevitable punch that comes next, which is why he watches the outrage on Midorima’s face slip into resignation.

Then Midorima opens his mouth, allowing for easier access. It’s a power high, having such a big guy, such a strong and powerful guy, beneath him. That’s when it sorta clicks that he wants to fuck Midorima. Well, more than it did before. 

He slips a hand into Midorima’s pants, and no resistance is offered, so things devolve from there.

It’s only that morning, when he sits outside the shower that’s been running since four am, ever since Midorima peeled himself off the couch and stumbled to the shower, cum dripping down his thighs, Takao blearily watching him before trying to go back to sleep, that he realises that he’s fucked up.

If he listens close enough, he can hear Midorima sobbing, and if he goes in, he’s certain Midorima will be curled up in a little ball. It should make him feel like shit, hearing this, imagining it. Instead he just feels numb, and a little satisfied. It’s the greedy, oily and slimy part of his soil that squirms in delight when he goes a little too far, bullies a little bit too much, fucks his best friend even though the dude didn’t really want to, that’s the bit of him that’s satisfied right now.

He goes to school. Midorima doesn’t. They coexist for some time without talking, and Takao masturbates to Midorima’s blushing face and cries after he comes, and Midorima cries whenever, all the time. He’ll be chopping vegetables and he’ll just stop, stare into the distance, and silent tears will run down his face. He feels numb all the time now, and maybe that’s his way of feeling like shit. Maybe that’s his own version of guilt. It feels terrible, and it doesn’t feel bad enough.

Is he a rapist? Is that what he is? He should apologise. He wants to apologise, but he doesn’t know how. Midorima doesn’t bother getting his lucky items. He wishes that he never agreed to let Midorima stay at his place, wishes Midorima hadn’t been kicked out, wishes he could have kissed Midorima and Midorima wouldn’t have forced himself to kiss back. He wishes he was loved instead of given in to. 

(Midorima moves out a couple of weeks later, stays with Akashi. They don’t talk much after that, but they manage an uneasy friendship in which neither acknowledges the weeks Midorima spent at his house.)


End file.
